


Bluer

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Ficlet, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 22:25:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4497042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin waited too long and has to settle for a whisper of Bilbo with his nephew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bluer

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Thorin jerking off, alone in his room in Laketown, while he listens to Bilbo having sex with DoYC. And the Kings knows that if only he had not been so proud and told his feelings to the burglar, it would be him instead of the other dwarf. If only... + Fíli or Kíli as the DoYC for major angst factor” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/10731.html?thread=22759659#t22759659).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They’re at it again. It started fast, with little talk, and such short fumbling that Thorin’s not exactly sure what happened—maybe they ripped off each other’s clothes, or maybe they just fell back onto the mattress with everything still on. They’re close to the wall, close enough that he can hear _everything_ , when he leans against it, anyway. He has his back to it, legs crossed on his own bed, a table dragged in front of the door and his cock pulled out of his trousers—for all his pride, he falls quickly into _shame_.

He resisted, the first few times. But it’s too tantalizing—maybe the closest he’ll ever get. He’s one of the few dwarves to have his own room, and the rickety Laketown walls are pitifully thin. He can hear every slapping sound, every fluttering gasp, every press of Kíli’s cock into Bilbo’s round ass. He knows that much. He’s heard all Kíli’s moans about how _tight_ Bilbo is, how soft and warm. Bilbo gasps that Kíli’s just big, but Thorin’s _bigger_. He could make his little burglar _scream_ , but instead he only listens, some pathetic pervert with just his own hand. 

When he shuts his eyes, leans his head back against the wall, he tries to picture it. He pictures Bilbo _naked_ , all smooth, pretty skin, with light honey curls and a bit of cute cushioning. His hair’s probably slicked to his forehead with sweat, matted around his pointed ears. Maybe his big feet are in the air, thick thighs spread open, or maybe he’s on hands and knees, trembling like a fawn. His cries are like silk, even through the wood, his moaning all high-pitched and broken. He always sounds like he’s on the verge of shattering, overwhelmed, but he takes it like the little warrior he is, and Thorin would do just about anything to be the one splitting Bilbo open. He pictures Bilbo crushed under him, squirming and sweating with breathy, erotic noises and a lewd blush across his cheeks. His eyes would be hazy, heavy-lidded, but he’d look up at Thorin with longing and adoration, and Thorin would pump him full, round after round. Thorin’s cock is rock hard in his hand, and he’d probably burst instantly if it weren’t for Kíli’s sudden groan. He winces. 

They don’t talk much. He wants to hear so much more of Bilbo, but it helps, in a way, because it _hurts_ to hear Kíli’s voice—it should be him in there, least of all his _nephew_. He only wants the best for Kíli. But didn’t Kíli want that elf? And Bilbo should be _Thorin’s._ It could’ve been him, he thinks, if he hadn’t been so damn proud. If he’d just come out and said it, admitted what he felt for their little burglar, it could be him on the other side of the wall. But he was too afraid of being vulnerable, like they’ve both made him now, and how was he to know a fussy little halfling from half the world over would prove more valuable than the stone he still dreams of?

Bilbo lets out a sudden shriek, and Thorin’s teeth grit, his cock twitching in his hands. He can hear the finish in Bilbo’s voice, and he tries to picture it on Bilbo’s face, tries to imagine Bilbo’s tight walls convulsing around him. Mostly, he thinks of kissing Bilbo’s heaving breast, feeling Bilbo’s rapid heart, and holding Bilbo’s face against his own while they raced towards the end. He has to clamp a hand over his mouth to stifle his own scream. He spills into his hand, one shameful jet after the other, milked out to Bilbo’s beautiful cries. Thorin’s skin is smoldering, his head thin, but it doesn’t take until he’s come down for him to feel horribly guilty.

He’s still covering his mouth, trying to stifle his panting breath, when he hears Kíli’s muffled voice, wondering aloud, “Are you alright?” Thorin turns his face to the wood, ear flat against it—nephew or no, he’ll be furious if Bilbo’s hurt. But Bilbo only murmurs some form of affirmation; his voice is quieter than Kíli’s.

Kíli sighs, sounding heavy. There’s a thunking noise—perhaps he’s leaning against the wall, too. They take a moment, then Kíli grunts, “I hate that you always look sad after. Am I bad?” Thorin’s brow furrows, confused. 

Bilbo rushes, “No, no, no.” More quiet shuffling, maybe snuggling; Thorin doesn’t want to think about it. “Kíli, you’re wonderful. Really. It’s... me. It’s just...”

“I’m not Thorin,” Kíli sighs.

Thorin freezes. He was breathing hard, but now he tries not to breathe at all, straining to hear, though Bilbo’s next words are too muffled to make out. Thorin’s almost sure he heard wrong, he must’ve, but Kíli goes on, “It’s alright, Bilbo. I enjoy it. And I appreciate the practice. ...But you should really tell Thorin.”

His name is unmistakable. Bilbo snorts. “Yes, now that he’s almost got his gold and kingdom and everything he’s ever wanted, I’m sure the King Under the Mountain would love to settle for some pitiful grocer who slept with his nephew.”

“You sell yourself short.”

Bilbo laughs, though Thorin can’t find the joke. He’s busy trying to reconcile everything. He spent so many nights like this, and he never heard them say this before. Of course, they never said much, only lilting jokes and light talk of the comforts of home, and Thorin would come closer, really _listen_ , when he heard his burglar slipping into _sex_.

“Anyway, I’m going to get food,” Kíli announces, adding, “do you want to come?”

“You expect me to walk after that?”

Kíli laughs again, snorting, “And you want to upgrade to a bigger dwarf!” Thorin’s face is burning, but Bilbo only chuckles and answers in a sighed hush, mangled through the wood—maybe he wants a glass of water, or something to that effect, but Kíli will have to fetch it. The bed seems to creak, and fabric shuffles, and then there’re footsteps—Kíli off to eat. 

And Bilbo must be left alone, lounging bed, debauched and gorgeous and ripe for the picking. Thorin sucks in a breath, mind reeling. 

Then he stuffs himself back into his trousers and wrenches off the bed like he’s going off to battle.


End file.
